The Blog and Its Own

Monday, 5 September 2011

Tom Hooper, that's Oscar winning Tom Hooper, garnered numerous accolades and world-wide recognition for The King's Speech (2010) - a portrayal of King George VI. That's not strictly true though is it? The statement certainly is true in a sense, there are no falsities within, yet it doesn't reveal the entire picture and the Picture's true meaning. It is also a portrayal of stammering - a vocalised defect and disability. It is a clear portrayal of Empire and Immigration where royalty meets slavery. It is even an analogy for organic beings communicating and living through technological means. These are all true statements. Is the film true?

This question is controversial, integral and . . . well, tired and boring. This blog cannot compete with Heidegger and a pair of boots, so it won't.

Fig 1. Van Gogh's boots, Heidegger's mission.

Leaving Heidegger and entering the fray several brain levels lower than him, we can begin. The King's Speech and its relation to truth is measured through its accuracy in depicting historical events. This accuracy is tenuous. Christopher Hitchens took exception to the portrayal of Winston Churchill; replace Timothy Spall's endearing support for the underdog with, well, searing hate for the underdog and you've got a fairer representation. Replace the King's witty remark at Hitler's impressive speaking voice with a fetish-like admiration for National Socialism's cultural program and Colin Firth, that's Oscar-winning Colin Firth, gets closer to becoming George VI.

Adaptations of Royalty is a common subject for British writers, and the writer Peter Morgan is no exception. Morgan had the brilliant idea of educating the masses in the ways of the oft-forgotten ruler - Henry VIII. Or was that the oft-mentioned and quiz-show incumbent Henry VIII. I don't know but he had an obsession with heads; he made himself Head of the Church, he collected previous wives' heads, and this was presumably all down to his not receiving any . . . heirs. Morgan called this Henry VIII (2003). The history of Henry VIII is full of enough blood, violence and religious upheaval to baffle any writer into fitting it all in. Not so for Peter Morgan who insisted on doubling Henry's efforts in the ITV drama - the dissolution of the Church is represented not through politics but screaming victimised nuns and Robert Aske's execution was apparently not violent enough so instead of the historical beheading we are treated to poor old Sean Bean being hung, drawn and quartered. Violently. Peter Morgan also added some racy scenes - Anne Boleyn goes all soap opera when she wears a lace headdress, exposing her hair which in Tudor times was the equivalent of a photo now found in The Sun. Scandalous.

Fig 2. Thou are royally fit, and ye doth know it.

However, the important question arises, do these inaccuracies matter? In one aspect they do, providing historical integrity heightens the realism and notion of what a film is trying to convey. However does the film deliberately mis-lead the audience and become propaganda? No I do not think that The King's Speech or Henry VIII does. They may be stupid, or incredibly stupid when regarding the latter, but they are preserving some form of truth. The King's Speech is undeniably a personal tale of a man's struggle with social order and control - his personal admiration for a diluted Nazi Germany does not render this struggle any less truthful, or change the dynamic between himself and his Australian teacher. The same goes for Ray Winstone's cockney Tudor; blood becomes bloodier, romps become more rampant yet the intentions of portraying a political upheaval in the background of one man's megalomania is solid. Even if the resulting show is unwatchable.

It seem's I've let Hooper, Firth and Morgan walk away from the gallows (or in Morgan's case, a laser-gun death chamber full of half bat-half octupus interrogators). This assumption is not true. In fact it is entirely false. As Firth walks away from imminent death I would haul Messrs Hooper and Morgan back and read them their new charges.

If Henry VIII is an example of crass drama that ultimately is inoffensive in it's irregularities, then Longford (2007) directed by Hooper and written by Morgan is its polar opposite - a brilliantly acted, brilliantly written, brilliantly created drama that is sadly ONE BIG MISLEADING LIE.

Longford dramatises the events of Lord Longford's relationship with Myra Hindley from 1969 to his death in 2001. The film itself is superb. Jim Broadbent's performance goes past the distinct nasal voice of the Labour peer to reveal an emotional, intelligent and progressive thinker trying to cast off society's imposed moralities. Longford is punished by the public's misunderstanding of his motives; Justice is the Lord's quest in life where the old adage of an eye-for-an-eye can never be administered in a fair society - regardless of the severity of a crime. Longford is ridiculed by both political equals and in one scene adolescent boys, adding further to his feeling of uselessness in old age.
The film boasts a clever and restrained performance from Samantha Morton in the role of Moors murderer Hindley; given the hard task of transforming a black and white picture into a living and breathing reality, she commits herself brilliantly by in fact, doing very little. Longford also features a three scene tour de force by Andy Serkis, whose embodiment of Ian Brady is truly terrifying. Serkis doesn't just let the name and persona do the work, his disgusted expression and Scottish growl creates a mesmerising danger that exists regardless of Longford's protection by prison guard, and a viewer's protection by screen.

The controversy surrounding Serkis' visit to Ian Brady makes it all the more potent, and perhaps adds to the notion of 'realism' which the film aspires to. There are no gruesome photos or manic police offices here - the action is almost strictly confined to prison visits and Longford's study. This 'realism' and lack of sensationalism figures both in and outside the work; the restrained direction of Hooper reflects Longford's strive to strip down emotion and understand the idea of human rights - not just for the good of the prisoner, but for the good of the judge, victim's family and society. This film is not about murder, corruption or politics but about 'Natural Rights' and Hooper makes no mistake that Lord Longford is the one that understands this. By the end of the film the audience sympathises with the old man being berated by common radio listeners - they finally understand Lord Longford.

No they don't. Not if this film is all they can go by. My hand is twitching to bring the guillotine down on Hooper and Morgan and this is why -

Lord Longford on Homosexual Rights:

it was "nauseating" and he would not accept it, even in Law.

Homosexuals were "handicapped people".

"if someone seduced my daughter it would be damaging and horrifying but not fatal. She would recover, marry and have lots of children... On the other hand, if some elderly, or not so elderly, schoolmaster seduced one of my sons and taught him to be a homosexual, he would ruin him for life. That is the fundamental distinction."

Oh dear. Lord Longford was a homophobe. I must have missed this in the film. I will watch it again. There is no mention of Longford's homophobia and bigotry. Not one small hint. This is a clear distortion of truth.

No dramatisation is ever really truthful, that is quite obvious -but some dramatisations can be knowingly deceitful. As earlier stated The King's Speech does bypass the aspect of Royalty and Nazism, but it importantly did not skewer the central beliefs of the film which rather uninspiringly was a standard tale of disabled man against adversity. Longford, on the other hand, presents itself as a study of a man committed to Human Rights under natural law. We forgive him for his contrition with child murderers, and his judgement of the victim's parents in their media courting, because he is a campaigner for Human Rights. Yet introduce the undisputed homophobia of Longford and the picture drastically changes. The boots are no longer Van Gogh's - they are two donkeys in disguise on their way to NASCAR. The truth of Longford is distorted, the intentions become corrupt, it is simply a lie.

Fig 3. Jim Broadbent; lying about his glasses, hair and accent.

My hand shakes in anticipation of bringing the blade down on Tom Hooper and Peter Morgan for duping me, for completely understanding a man, only to take it all away. For placing my faith in drama, only for it to be revealed as unreality. However I don't. I let them go. Corporal punishment never works, so i forgive them. Hooper goes on to win an oscar. Morgan continues writing, and good, he's really great at it.

It's only a film. Yes, it is. But that still does not make it a lie.
The King's Speech is not truthful about reality, but it conveys a truth about ability, status and imprisonment.
Henry VIII is not truthful about reality, but conveys a truth of political and personal relationships which we as inescapable 21st century beings can understand.
Longford is not truthful about reality, and does not convey a truth about a man searching for Natural Law.
If i ever meet Tom Hooper and Peter Morgan i'll challenge them on this - I'm not asking for the impossible where a film can become reality, thats daft, all i'm asking for is integrity and moral intentions in its conception.

But i'd rather watch Longford than The King's Speech or Henry VIII. It's bloody good.

Wednesday, 31 August 2011

Many have discerned the notion that God spelt backwards is dog. This revelation is impossible to understand if the English language eludes you and goes some way to explaining the history of 'English Superiority'. Bizarrely this fact has been completely dismissed in any historical analysis of the Crusades, which can be adequately summed up as -

Alas, nothing is this simple. It would have been if Richard I could have spoken a word of English, but he couldn't, and that's that. Lionheart - did he have the heart of a lion or a lion in his heart? One promotes bravery and courage, the other an impossible zoophilia. I digress. God. If one is to carry on English entitlement through language it is plain and simple that blog spelled backwards reads 'Golb'; it is half divinity and half an appeal for leg before wicket.

Now we are getting somewhere - a blog has no beginning, it is not absolute like God. It also has no end, a batsman waiting for that Umpire's call before the final judgement. English Degrees are impressive.

Let me return to the wonders of backward spelling. A Frenchman is miserable. I should know, I'm half of one. Yet this is not the fault of the French themselves - the genesis of such a problem lies in their language. Whereas Englishmen keep the secret of the heavens in a basket in their kitchen, the French are constantly throwing objects for their 'chiens' to fetch. The french term for multiple dogs are 'chiens', the french term for backwards dogs is 'sneihc'. Add the letters 'ze' for 'ze french' and a 't' which when capitalised (T) looks like a cross (God, you see) and we have our result. Before I reveal to you the results I must refer back to my English Degree and my favourite course - 'Dan Brown Investigates'. That's right, it spells 'Nietzsche'. The source of a Frenchman's misery lies in his dog - a dog that is beyond good or evil and so fetches a ball when it decides to fetch a ball, defecates on the pavement when it chooses to defecate. With this information it is hardly surprising that France strikes so often, who would not be inspired into idleness when they share common space with a Nihilistic canine.

fig 1. French Dog, a proponent of Despair.

Nietzsche. The father of nihilism. The giver of existentialist sperm to a fertile feminine readership. No. Not really. Nietzsche wasn't a beginning either. I have no idea where thoughts begun, but I know they were apparent in Max Stirner's head before hairy-faced Friedrich. If one compares appearances it is pretty obvious Nietzsche's facial hair is inspired by Stirner's prolific sideburns. Actually, it's not. Relatively few pictures exist of Max Stirner. Instead we have to settle for a sketch by another Freidrich, this time Engels, to be enlightened over what an assumed father of existentialism really looks like. A sketch that is more minimalist than the offspring of a conjugal visit between Philip Glass and Beckett, pretty shit actually, but I guess everyone was in the spirit of community when Engels was about -

"if you criticise my sketch, you criticise the world entire".

Or something to that effect.

And thus we come to the beginnings of this blog. Referencing Stirner's own work, due in part because I too am desperately trying to avoid Prussian censors, I have cleverly substituted the word 'blog' for 'ego'. I've kept the 'own' bit, I thought that was pretty apt.

My name, as the address states, is Georges Nase. No it's not, I've ripped off Stirner again. He had a big forehead so Schmidt became Stirner, in my case it's the German translation of a Coriolanus nose which provides the surname. For some reason Johann became Max and this can only be referencing two things -

a) Maximilian Robespierre or

b) Maximus Decimus Meridius, a portrayal of Narcissus by the actor Russell Crowe (coincidentally Crowe's genesis is almost as complicated as God's; New Zealand? Australian? Simian?)

As these are the only two options available I've opted for the crazy, maniacal and vengeful one. I've gone for (a) to be clear. Robespierre might have felt a little triumphant in 1794 (April that is, not July) but Danton certainly has the last laugh - the privilege of being referenced in this widely-read blog.

And that concludes the beginnings of my blog name, blog address, and indeed, blog. In case you missed it - I'm a recent English Literature graduate, unemployed, and forced to start a blog. By trying to avoid the clichés of blog snobbery, explanation and quirky randomness i have fallen into the English graduate trap of creating a blog that is disdainful of its own existence, whose sole purpose is borne out of an intense job market and . . . well I hope it hasn't been quirky. Let it be known that this is not a random blog. Here is a picture of a Moose, wearing a sombrero, and playing Stairway to Heaven on a drum-kit made of skittles - THROUGH THE POWER OF LANGUAGE. No. Pseudo-intellectual rubbish is the only thing on offer here. Cinema articles too. Welcome.